


On the Sharp Edge

by MilesHibernus



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M, HYDRA Trash Party, Mentions of past sexual assault, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Rape Fantasy, Steve gets one whole line, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 21:07:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5600980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilesHibernus/pseuds/MilesHibernus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I've had plenty of sex I didn't want to be having, but it was always to advance my mission."</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Sharp Edge

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to make it very clear that, while this is maybe not the best idea anyone ever had for working through one's trauma, at any point Natasha _could_ tap out and it would be respected.

There were things they only talked about when they were alone.

They both thought it was funny that Natalia had ended up on Bucky's list of approved babysitters (which was what they were, no matter what Steve said); somehow the irony of leaving one unwillingly conditioned formerly-evil super assassin to offer emotional support to another had gone right past Captain America. But neither of them was in a hurry to point it out, either, because it gave them opportunities to discuss things no one else wanted to think about.

"It was mostly before Hydra, actually," Bucky said. "I wasn't as dangerous then. The Soviets used pretty conventional brainwashing, it wasn't good for me but it didn't break things so much. But the Hydra techs knew what they were doing to my head and they weren't willing to get their dicks that close to the crazy." He grinned at her. Natalia laughed. She looked harmless, curled into her plush armchair like a cat, but he knew better. "Hey, their loss. By the time I hit Hydra proper I was pretty good at it."

Natalia snorted amusement. "It's weird," she said. "No one thinks about it with you, and it's the first place everyone goes with me." She put on a tragic face. "Oh, obviously she was raped, imagine the abuse, poor thing! Except the Red Room wasn't _stupid_. Sex was for missions." She looked down into her cup of tea, cradled against her chest in the perfect position to be thrown into the face of an attacker. "I mean, I've had plenty of sex I didn't want to be having, but it was always to advance my mission."

"I'm pretty sure that still counts," Bucky said.

She grimaced. "Sure, but it's not...I went into those mission with my eyes open."

He snorted in turn. "Like you had any choice."

"Of course I had a choice. I could have run."

Sometimes Bucky wished he wore glasses so he could look at people (mostly Steve) over them when they made such stupid comments. Instead he raised one eyebrow. Natalia was perfectly capable of ignoring him indefinitely, of course, but she tried not to when they were having this kind of talk. She sighed. "OK, you're right. I wasn't ready, and even once I was it took Clint to push me."

"Speaking of Barton, why haven't you brought this up with him? You wanna be a quote real unquote victim, there are ways these days. Safewords. All that kind of thing."

Natalia laughed again, sincerely as far as he could tell. "Clint can just about handle 'fuck me harder', Yasha. 'Hold me down' is fine but he'll let up if I fight too much. 'Hit me' is just not happening."

"He hits you sparring."

"Sparring isn't sex." She curled a little tighter. "Besides, I can take Clint. Pretending not to be myself...wouldn't work and the odds are not in my favor that it'd be the one time out of ten that Clint puts me on the mat instead of vice versa."

"Have you asked Steve?"

"I can take Steve," she said quietly. "He wouldn't get serious with me until it was too late."  Things like that were why he'd originally been a little worried about her going into the field with Steve.

Bucky titled his head in acknowledgement. "I don't think he'd be able to hurt you and keep it up, either."

"Nope," she said, with a wry smile. "He'd try if I convinced him I actually wanted him to, but even if he managed to go through with it, it would bother him after."

And that was why Bucky _trusted_ her to go into the field with Steve.

He thought about it for a moment. "Tell me, Natalia Alianovna—how much do you like the clothes you're wearing?"

She didn't gasp or anything so obvious, but Bucky was treated to a full two seconds of having visibly surprised the Black Widow before she said evenly, "How do you plan to explain this to Steve? He'll be back before the bruising fades."

"We got carried away sparring, how else?" He smiled, even as he made a mental note that she wanted to be bruised. "So you better get a few good hits in, or I'll have to deal with Steve being very concerned."

Natalia nodded slowly. "And what are you getting out of this?"

It was tempting to say something flip, _Looked in a mirror lately?_ maybe, but they didn't bullshit each other over these things. "I want to see how the other half lives," he said. "I want to know if it's really that good, or if they were just evil. And you can take it." She turned that over in her head, nodded again. "We're not doing this without a net, though. You need a word."

"Bucky," Natalia said with a sideways smile. "Barnes or James or Yasha are fine, but you have to stop if I call you Bucky."

"Good choice," he said—Bucky was a good guy. Bucky would never do something like this. "Hey, Jarvis."

There was a brief pause; Stark's AI didn't monitor any of the private spaces unless invited. "Yes, Sergeant."

"You work for Stark, have you done the dungeon monitor thing before?" Natalia gave him a look of exaggerated surprise and he flipped her the bird. He had the Internet, it wasn't hard to stumble over these things.

"I have," Jarvis said, imperturbable.

"Natalia's safeword is 'Bucky'," Bucky said, and pushed himself out of the obscenely comfortable clutches of the couch. "Or if I hit her in the face with my fist, either one, or...hold on a sec." He opened the drawer that Steve used to stash things they had no immediate use for and extracted the cat collar that Stark had handed him one day with the comment that he should wear it to stop giving people heart attacks. He yanked the bell off. "Or if she can't talk, if she drops this." He rattled the bell in illustration. "Any of those things happen and I don't back off, gas us both and call for backup."

The whole tower was wired with intruder-control systems, one of which was even nonlethal.

"Agent Romanoff, do you agree to this arrangement?" Jarvis asked, his tone even more formal than usual.

"Yes," Natalia said. She was still in her chair, though Bucky could see that her posture had shifted a little.

"When you're finished, please inform me," Jarvis said.

Bucky got to just within lunging range. Natalia watched him carefully, still holding her tea. "We don't have to do this," Bucky said.

" _You_ don't have to do this," she told him.

"Here," he said, and tossed the bell to her. As she caught it, he dove for her.

She threw the tea into his face. It wasn't hot enough to scald anymore but he had to blink it out of his eyes and almost got a kick to the chin as Natalia vaulted out of her chair. If it hadn't been overstuffed and soft, she'd have made it; instead he grabbed her by the ankle and yanked her out of the air, slamming her back down. "This'll go easier if you don't fight, Natashenka," he said.

"What the hell are you doing, Barnes?" she demanded, tense as a wire but not bothering to struggle; her style was all about not getting grabbed in the first place.

"What's it look like?" He pulled her up against him and kissed her, hard and invasive, forcing his tongue between her lips. She made a muffled noise of protest and tried to bite him. He pushed her back and snapped, "None of that," and backhanded her, just hard enough to sting.

She relaxed suddenly and swallowed, and her eyes began to fill with tears. "Yasha, don't do this," she said shakily, and he'd have bought it from anyone else; only because he knew Natalia would never give up so easily did he manage to catch her knee on his thigh instead of right in the balls. His dodge bought her enough leeway to twist out of his grasp. She eeled over the side of the chair and rolled to her feet.

He snatched for her and got her, barely, by the tail of the long knit shirt she was wearing. _God **damn** she's fast_ , he thought. She whirled towards him, using the momentum of the turn to whip her leg into his side. He lost all his air, but not his grip; she bent and backed out of the shirt while he was still trying to stand up straight.

Dealing with the fabric slowed her just a hair, thankfully, and he grabbed her by the biceps with the metal hand as she turned to run. "This could've been easy," he snarled, squeezing.

"You're hurting me," she said, calmly, but letting it show on her face.

He wrapped his other arm around her and pulled her to him, pressed together from shoulders to knees so she could feel the way his cock was starting to take an interest. "That's the idea," he said.

She was still wearing a camisole; he grabbed the neck-edge with the metal hand and tore it away. The bra beneath was plain white. "Yasha," Natalia said, and for the first time there was fear in her voice. Maybe even real fear, but it wasn't the name Steve used so he didn't let go. "Steve wouldn't want—"

"Steve's not here," he said, smirking. The metal hand didn't have the dexterity to unhook her bra so he snapped the strap instead. Her breasts were perfect, milk-white where the sun didn't touch, and he pinched one nipple viciously. She drew a sharp breath.

"I'll kill you," she said, low and sure.

"You'll have to find me first," he said, grinding his hips into her. "They're not due back till tomorrow, and with eighteen hours' head start you'll never see me again."

She stamped on his instep and twisted again but he got the metal arm up in time and it locked while he rode out the flash of pain. " _I_ don't need to see you," Natalia said. "You'll be just as dead when Clint shoots you from half a mile."

He smiled into her furious face and shoved her. She hit the coffee table and fell, landing on her back with a painful-sounding thud that drove the wind out of her. Before she recovered he grabbed her ankles and pulled her to the floor. "All you had to do was take it," he murmured, crawling up her body as she labored for breath.  He pulled the remnants of her bra away. "But you didn't want to do that, so now we do it the hard way. Give me your hands." She panted. " _Now_ ," he snapped.

He wasn't expecting her right hand to come up with a knife in it. It scraped off the metal shoulder, a blow that would have crippled him if it had hit flesh. They wrestled for the blade in silence until he got a good grip on her wrist with the metal hand. Natalia's swung fist slammed into his temple hard enough that even he would bruise and he had to shake it off, but as he did he tightened his grip. "Let go or I'll break it," he said in the Asset's flat growl. Natalia bared her teeth for a long second and he squeezed harder; the bones were on the very edge of snapping when she let the knife drop with an indrawn breath that was close to a sob. "Now give me your hands, Natashenka."

Her eyes were wide and wild as she obeyed. He could circle both wrists with the metal hand, though it wouldn't have been a firm grip with his flesh one. He stood, pulling her up with him. "<Yasha, don't do this,>" she said, in Russian this time and with an edge of desperation.

"<You can't stop me,>" he said. She stared at him. He could feel her starting to shake, the very finest tremor, and repeated, slower, "<You can't stop me>."

He saw the decision on her face and the next breath she drew shuddered. "<Please don't,>" her voice was small and desperate, and to some extent she was acting but it wasn't to fool _him_ this time. " <Please, Yasha, please don't.>" She tested his grip but there was no technique in it, and purely strength to strength she couldn't hope to match the motors of the metal hand. He slapped her anyway, hard. Her head snapped with the blow and when she straightened there were tears standing in her eyes. "<I don't consent to this,>" she said clearly. "<I can't stop you, but I don't consent.>"

And that actually gave him pause. "<Who do you think you're dealing with here, Natashenka? You of all people should know the Winter Soldier doesn't stop.>" He ran his fingers down her side to skate them over the scar of their first meeting, and met her eyes, thinking, _Say it. It's all right if you say it_.

He watched her lips form the sound, and for a second he was certain. But: "<Barnes. James. Yasha. That's who you are. You're not the Winter Soldier anymore.>"

He grinned and said, "<Then I guess you don't know Yasha as well as you thought.>"

And suddenly she went wild, twisting in his grip like a cat, artless. She kicked, but connected only by chance. "<Help, help, help me,> stop him, _help!_ " She slid in and out of Russian as he gathered her to his chest, holding her tighter than he needed to, her writhing weight making him heavy-footed as he started for the hallway that led to the bedrooms.

Normally, Steve's complete inability to keep things in logical places drove him crazy. On this occasion, it was useful, because it meant that he could snag a package of plastic zip ties out of the linen closet as they went by. Sometimes he thought wistfully of how useful zip ties would have been, back in the war.

He used Natalia's body to knock his bedroom door open, set her on her feet, and yanked her around by the shoulders so he could ziptie her arms behind her back, wrist to opposite elbow, tight but not painfully so; they could explain bruises with overenthusiastic sparring but ligature marks would raise eyebrows. "I know you can get out of that," he said conversationally. "I don't suggest you try."

"Or what?" Natalia snarled, her voice thick.

He turned her again and smiled thinly. "Do you really want the answer to that question?" She was a mess, covered in tears and her makeup running, her cheek blooming red where he'd slapped her. She met his eyes for only a second before her gaze stuttered away. "I didn't think so. You already know what happens when you don't do what you're told." He took her by the shoulders and walked her back to the bed, shoving her flat, and seized the waistband of her pants—fortunately elastic, he wouldn't be ruining any more of her clothes. As he pulled them down she moaned, not really a word but a protest anyway. He let the smile spread, though her eyes were shut tight; she'd be able to hear the expression in his voice. "Don't pretend to enjoy it, Natashenka." He'd always hated the ones who wanted him to like it, though he'd learned quickly enough how to give the appearance.

"Fuck you," she said.

"Interesting choice of words." He wasn't blind; he'd been aware since the first time he saw her that Natalia was beautiful, but this was something else again. Lying on her bound hands (they were on a clock now, she couldn't stay that way for long) pulled her shoulders back and arched her spine in a parody of seduction; she was pale as moonlight and the scar on her abdomen (the scar he'd given her) was the flaw that brought her perfection into focus.

He'd expected to have to work at getting hard.

He pulled her up the bed by her shoulders and then settled over her, pressing himself against her. She shuddered and turned her face away. He skimmed his hand down her side and slid it between her legs and she whined through her teeth as he sank a finger into her. She wasn't wet. "<Look at me,>" he said. There was a long pause before her eyes opened. "<Say my name.>"

"Yasha."

He sat back, his weight firmly on her thighs, and unfastened his jeans, shoving them down just enough. He was leaking, which was good; he had no great desire to end up with friction burns on his cock. She didn't help him spread her legs, but she didn't resist it either. He put the metal hand on her shoulder and grasped himself with his real one, rubbing the head of his cock against her.

"<Natashenka, tell me my name.>"

Through gritted teeth, Natalia said, "<Your name is Yakov Yuryovich, and when I'm done with you they'll be finding your body for _weeks_. >"

"<That's just what I hoped you'd say,>" he said, and pushed. She was tight around him and it took several thrusts to fully seat himself inside her. Her lips moved, soundless but he could read _No, no_ in the shape they made. She was crying again and the tears trickled down into her hair. He had to pause for control.

He didn't...want this. It _felt_ good, but he didn't want it—not even in this half-real way. _Guess that answers that question_ , he thought, and settled himself to see it through.

He fucked her with no consideration for her pleasure, even her comfort, hard enough to bruise. Her hands had to be crushed under their combined weight. He let the metal hand tighten on her shoulder as his climax neared; she made a pained, wordless noise. There would be five neat finger-marks in a few minutes.

When he came he bit her on the curve of her breast, not quite hard enough to break the skin, and she wailed. He let both hands slip to the mattress as the shock rolled through him in waves and locked the elbows until he had enough control to heave himself to the side. Natalia didn't move for a long time, her breathing calming only slowly.

When she finally spoke her voice was rough, but calm. "Hey, Bucky."

"Yeah," he said.

"Get me out of these, would you? I could do it myself but ligature marks would be a bad idea."

"Sure, roll over," he said, and decided not to help. He touched her as little as possible as he snapped the zip ties. She sat up, arranging herself cross-legged, and dropped the little bell onto the blanket so she could rub her hands together with a grimace.

"Pins and needles," she said, at the inquiring look. "It'll be fine in a minute." She tilted her head and smiled. "I liked that bra."

Dryly, he said, "I did ask."

She rolled her eyes. "Jarvis."

"Yes, Agent Romanoff."

"Game over."

* * *

Bucky's black eye looked several days old and hideous by the time Steve showed up the next afternoon. Natalia's, ironically, was less bad. The first thing Steve said, looking back and forth between them playing cribbage at the kitchen table, was, "You two have got to be more careful when you spar."

Natalia pegged a pair and said sweetly, "It's not my fault he's the only one who can give me a real run for my money around here."

Bucky laughed so hard he choked.

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally posted](http://hydratrashmeme.dreamwidth.org/1634.html?thread=3514466#cmt3514466) on the Hydra Trash Party on Dreamwidth.


End file.
